


Petit Sirah

by RoyalHeather



Category: Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, PWP, Penis In Vagina Sex, Praise Kink, brief mention of past sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 05:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12150093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalHeather/pseuds/RoyalHeather
Summary: Things have been tense since Mariah took over Harlem's Paradise, to say the least. Luckily, Shades is there to help.





	Petit Sirah

It’s been a few weeks now since Mariah kissed Shades in a moment of impulse, a little drunk off of vodka and the relief of having finally, impossibly, made it. A few weeks, and still neither of them have talked about it. There’s no awkwardness between them like Mariah thought there might be – no avoiding each other or playing coy, and they keep playing the game where Shades flirts at her and Mariah accepts it. They just. Don’t talk about it.

He hadn’t kissed her back. Then again, he hadn’t pulled away either. And that’s just Shades in general, always patient, keeping what he thinks locked behind sunglasses and a half-smile –

 _Quit it,_ Mariah tells herself, frowning at her reflection in the mirror as she puts in her earrings. _Stop fretting like a teenager. You’re too old for this shit anyhow._

There’s a knock on the door. “Ma’am?” says Alex, from outside. “Your car is ready.”

Right. Mariah straightens out her jacket, sets her shoulders. In terms of things she should be worrying about, Shades and his weedy Cubano ass is nowhere near the top of the list. She’d like it to stay that way.

\--

Circumstances make that difficult.

“Who’s this, your boyfriend?” sneers Alejandro Colon. He’s leaner and greasier than his deceased brother, and already getting this partnership off to a bad start.

Mariah draws herself up, refusing to glance back at where Shades hovers behind her, for once glad she’s too dark to show a blush on her cheeks. “He is my _bodyguard_ ,” she says, throwing as much affront into her voice as she can. “I thought we were going to have this meeting like professionals.”

Grinning around a toothpick, Colon shifts his feet, shoves his hands in his pockets. Already the gym around them bears the marks of new ownership, posters stripped down, the acrid smell of fresh paint filling the air. “All right, all right,” he says. “Jeez.”

The whole car ride back, Mariah keeps waiting to see if Shades will bring it up. But he remains silent, staring out somewhere in front of him, occasionally playing with a ring on his little finger. It’s new, heavy engraved silver set with a small, square-cut topaz, and Mariah finds herself wondering when he got it, and why. Things have meaning.

By the time they stop in front of her house, she’s reasonably confident Shades won’t bring up Alejandro’s remark. And then Alex drives off to park the car, and Mariah’s halfway up the steps when Shades says from behind her, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

Mariah whips around to stare at him, one hand in her purse. He’s standing on the landing below her, a smirk curling his lips. “It’s Shakespeare,” he says, when Mariah doesn’t respond. “From _Hamlet –_ ”

“I know it’s Shakespeare, dumbass,” snaps Mariah. “And for your information, the quote is ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’” Recovering herself, she locates her keys and opens the door, going inside. The petty temptation to shut Shades outside springs up inside her, but before she can act on it he’s already oozed his way inside, looking even more self-satisfied. “What is that supposed to mean, anyway?”

Shades shrugs. “I’m just saying, you got kind of defensive back there with Colon.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Mariah loftily, setting down her purse and stripping off her gloves. It’s going to be a cold spring. And Shades is never “just saying” anything.

“Please.” Shades is smiling now, like he’s caught her in something. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Well, she can keep on denying it, but all that’ll really happen is she’ll look like a fool. Folding her arms, she faces Shades and says, “He was _insulting_ me. Of course I was going to be defensive.”

“It’s an insult if I’m your boyfriend?” Shades doesn’t look offended, but he’s not smirking anymore either.

“Oh, please,” scoffs Mariah. “It’s not about you, it’s about implying that I need a man.” He’s smart, he should know that, and Mariah watches Shades to see if his expression changes. It doesn’t. “And can we stop saying ‘boyfriend,’ we’re not in the fourth grade anymore.”

She has the feeling that behind his sunglasses, Shades is watching her intently. “All right,” he says. And that’s it.

“Yeah?” retorts Mariah, after it’s clear he’s done talking. “‘All right?’ That’s all you gotta say?”

Apparently it is, because Shades just gives her a look and walks away.

\--

There’s a subtle but distinct change after that. Shades pulls back a bit, stops flirting with her, no longer sticks quite as close when he doesn’t need to. It takes Mariah a couple of days to notice, but once she does it’s unmistakable.

 _When you get a chance, come in here,_ she texts Shades, sitting at her desk in the Harlem’s Paradise office. She’s made a point of being here two days a week, and the club is starting to grow on her in a way Crispus Attucks never did. It has more personality, maybe. More soul, despite – or because of – everything that happened there.

Or at least, the building does. Mariah vastly prefers the staff at Crispus Attacks, because she swears everyone hired at Harlem’s Paradise became a complete idiot since it changed ownership. Either that, or they’re deliberately playing obtuse because she’s the owner now, and she’s half a mind to fire them all and start from scratch –

Shades walks in, immaculate in all black. “You look stressed.”

“Two goddamn weeks since I started running this joint, and suddenly no one knows how to get the kitchen cleanliness certification renewed?” Mariah grumbles. “I swear, it’s like herding cats –”

Chuckling, Shades sits down on the sofa opposite the desk. “Want me to do some wrangling?”

“No, I’ll manage,” sighs Mariah, staring at the chain of emails. Kitchen manager – some dude named Torreno – can’t even use proper capitalization either. “Somehow.”

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah.” Mariah considers how she wants to do this and decides not like this, with him standing and her behind the desk. “We need to talk,” she says, getting up and crossing over to seat herself on the couch too. She regrets that word choice almost immediately, because Shades tenses like he’s bracing himself, a slight but distinct change in his posture. “It’s nothing bad, all right? I just think we need to talk about this… thing… that’s going on between us.”

A grin spreads across Shade’s face and he removes his sunglasses, leans against the backrest of the couch. “I was wondering when you were going to bring it up,” he says.

Mariah resists the impulse to smack him on the arm. “You could have said something yourself, you know!”

“I know.” He’s still grinning. “But I wanted to see what you would do.”

He’s _infuriating._ Mariah straightens her skirt and crosses her ankles, taking a minute to compose herself. “Whatever happens,” she says, “I just think we need to be careful about not ruining our business relationship. There’s a lot that can go wrong in our line of work, and I don’t wanna jeopardize it by –”

“I think you’re incredible,” cuts in Shades.

Mariah stares at him.

He’s gazing back at her with the same sparkle in his eyes as the night she murdered Cornell. “You’re smart, you’re classy, you don’t let anyone talk down to you, you got a cool head for business and a stomach for what needs to get done,” says Shades. “Plus you’re just gorgeous.”

“All right, sure,” laughs Mariah, but she can’t hide that she’s pleased, if a little startled.

Shades is watching her intently. “Let me guess, it’s been a long time since anyone talked to you like that.”

“Not as long as you’d think,” retorts Mariah. And she’s not just saying it.

But the way Shades is looking at her, that _is_ new – with an admiration and a fondness so present there might very well be literal hearts in his eyes. “I swore off relationships when I started my political career,” says Mariah, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. “It might take me a while to figure out what I’m doing here.”

“That’s all right,” Shades says, unaccountably gentle. “I’ve got time.”

Leaning forward, Mariah kisses him.

Shades catches his breath, a tiny sound of surprise. His lips are dry, slightly warm, and his stubble grazes against her skin. For a moment he stays still, and Mariah’s on the point of pulling away when Shades’ hand slides around her waist, tugging her in towards him.

The world narrows, shrinking in on itself until all that’s left is the feel of Shades’ lips against hers, the pressure of his hand on her hip, the unsteady sounds of their breathing. Mariah kisses Shades slow and careful, teasing him out, pauses for breath and light tugs on his bottom lip. And gradually, she’s rewarded with him letting go of some of that perfect composure, leaning into her, chasing when she draws back.

“You were right, you know,” Shades murmurs eventually, face still close to Mariah’s. “This shouldn’t get in the way of… business.”

Mariah has her hands on Shades’ shoulders, her knees pressed up against his. “I’m not having anyone think less of me just ‘cause I’m with a man,” she says. “Like Colon.”

“The other thing is,” Shades continues, “that we don’t want to give anyone a weakness about us they could exploit.”

Sitting back, Mariah narrows her eyes at him. “You mean, someone might try to take one of us hostage to hurt the other.”

“In a nutshell.” Shades looks at her with complete seriousness, maybe even worry.

“Well, seeing as you’re my head of security, I’m counting on you to keep that from happening.” Mariah’s not immune from his fear, and it puts a tinge of asperity in her voice that she didn’t intend. “But yes, I agree. The less people know about… whatever this is –” she gestures vaguely in Shades’ direction “– the better.” His expression’s gone closed-off again, shoulders tight, and Mariah looks him over intently, trying to figure what he’s thinking. “Don’t you think so?”

Shades relaxes slightly, says, “No, I do,” and reaches out to tuck a stray curl of her hair into place. His fingers linger, tracing over the curve of Mariah’s cheek. “You’re right.”

But there’s still something not quite at ease about him, something sad deep behind his eyes. _Maybe he’s got a tragic lost love,_ Mariah thinks, and it strikes her how very little of Shades’ history she actually knows. “ ‘Course I am,” she says, straightening her posture. “I’m always right. How do you think I got here?”

That cracks a grin out of him. “I helped,” and his hand cups her jaw, pulling her in to kiss him again. Mariah sinks into the kiss, a slow heat building in her, spreading across her face, down her neck and chest. One hand still on her face, Shades slides the other down her hip, down her thigh, until he can slip his fingers up under the hem of her skirt.

Instinctively, Mariah freezes, shadowy memories of other questing, less-welcome hands at the back of her mind. Shades notices, stops kissing her. “Mariah?”

This is not the first time she’s dealt with this, and she refuses to let it get in her way. Ruthlessly shoving away the disquiet, she gets a handful of Shades’ lapel, presses her lips against his with maybe a little more enthusiasm than he was expecting. Shades makes another little sound of surprise in his throat, wraps one arm around her shoulders to tug her up close against him while his other hand continues its journey up under her skirt, fingers brushing over her thigh.

They neck for a little while, until Mariah becomes conscious of time passing and realizes there is actual work she needs to get done. “All right,” she says, a little breathless, drawing back from Shades. She’s halfway in his lap at this point, and there’s actually a tinge of color on his pale face, his eyes glittering, lips flushed. The sight of that makes something deep and dark turn inside Mariah. “Why don’t you stop by the house tonight,” she says. “Late.”

A slow, sharp smile spreads across his face, a little wild, all anticipation. “Yes, ma’am.”

\--

Shades lets himself in at the back door, slinking in like an alley cat. He doesn’t even really announce his presence; Mariah turns around from pouring herself a glass of wine and there he is, lounging against the kitchen doorframe with his sunglasses and his smirk on.

“Hey,” says Mariah.

Nodding at the bottle on the counter, Shades asks, “What’re you drinking?”

Mariah picks it up, looks over the label – she hadn’t been paying attention when she grabbed it, honestly. “Pinot Noir.”

“Huh.” Shades walks over to her, putting his sunglasses in his pocket, and grabs a wine glass of his own from the cabinet. “I’d have thought you were a Petit Sirah woman, myself.”

Filling his glass, Mariah says, “And I didn’t know you were a wine guy.”

“Only on weekends.” Shades grins.

The wine in his hand is rich and red, almost as dark as his suit. Light glints off the heavy silver ring on his finger, its topaz stone. He’s got… really nice hands, actually, long-fingered with good bones, and Mariah lets herself have a moment to imagine what exactly he could do with those hands –

“You’re staring,” says Shades, still smiling.

Mariah takes a sip of wine to hide her face. “Maybe.”

Chuckling, Shades downs his wine, sets the glass down so he can put an arm around Mariah’s waist, pulling her towards him. She allows this, smiling up at him, at how his eyes get all crinkly when he’s pleased with himself. “Like what you see?”

Rather than bother with words, Mariah kisses him. Shades tastes like red wine and anticipation, his grip on her waist tightening as Mariah inhales into a long, deep kiss with him. When he draws back, it’s to look into her eyes. “You get things sorted with the kitchen?”

“No,” growls Mariah, a knot of tension re-twisting in her spine. “I’m gonna have to go back in tomorrow – but who cares, I didn’t bring you here to talk business.”

“I know, I know.” Shades puts his hand to between her shoulders, right where that knot is, and starts massaging. “I just wanted to see if I needed to take care of anything.”

The pressure of his hand feels _good,_ fingers kneading into her back, and Mariah’s eyes drift half-shut in relaxation. She can’t think of the last time someone gave her a massage – maybe never.

Shades chuckles again, softly, and Mariah realizes she’s leaning into him, glass of wine perilously close to tipping onto the carpet. Without a word he takes the glass from her, setting it on the table, and sets both hands to massaging her shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles into the back of her neck. His touch reaches into her bones, dissolving wire-taut strings holding her together until it’s all Mariah can do not to just slump into his chest completely. “Let me take care of you,” murmurs Shades in her ear, raspy.

“I don’t need you to do that,” Mariah retorts in a kneejerk response.

“I know.” Shades’ fingers still work unerringly at the knots in her shoulders. “But you don’t need to carry everything all the time, either.”

Everything. Harlem, City Council, Cornell, the Stokes legacy, over forty years’ worth of responsibility built brick by brick on top of her.

“C’mon,” says Shades. He slides his hands down her back, loops his arms around Mariah’s waist, tugs her close until she’s up flush against him, her hands flat on his chest. She has to look up to see his face. “Just for tonight.”

Something snaps inside Mariah – not dramatic, not sharp, just a quiet little release like letting out a held breath. Nodding, she smoothes down his jacket lapel, pulls Shades in for a kiss. As his lips press warm against hers, his arms tighten around her until Mariah feels the boundary between him and her dissolving.

Shades takes his time kissing Mariah, slow and casual. But instead of pushing him for more, Mariah lets him go at his own pace, lets him take the lead as he slides a hand down her back. He smells very faintly of aftershave, skin warm where it touches Mariah’s.

“Bedroom?” he murmurs.

A tingle sweeps down Mariah’s spine. “Upstairs.”

Taking her hand, Shades pulls her along with him up the stairs.

The bedroom door shuts behind them and Shades grabs Mariah and kisses her with new urgency, like sparks have been struck from the door closing. His hands on Mariah’s face are rough in texture but gentle in pressure, and she slides his jacket off his shoulders. It hits the floor in a crumpled heap but Shades doesn’t even protest, just swings Mariah around and pushes her onto the bed.

It’s not much, just a gentle shove, but Mariah tells him all the same, “Watch who you go pushing around.”

“Sorry,” says Shades. Smoothing Mariah’s hair out of her face, he leans in and kisses her again.

“And take your shoes off, I just had the carpet cleaned.”

“Yes, ma’am.” With a smirk Shades steps back, kneeling to untie his shoes and take them off. Mariah, seated on the edge of the bed, watches his long fingers tug on the laces. Shoes and socks off, Shades sets them neatly by the bed, and then returns to kneel in front of Mariah, sliding his fingers up the back of her calf, looking up at her with dark inscrutable eyes.

Her breath catches, stomach tightening. Slowly, gaze never wavering from her face, Shades trails his fingers down her leg, skimming over her ankle, and picks up her foot to slide her shoe off. Setting the shoe aside, Shades presses his thumbs into the arch of her foot, massaging. Once more knots Mariah didn’t even know she was carrying loosen and ease, and she sighs, hands spread flat over the silky bedspread.

After maybe a minute Shades gently puts her foot down, shifts to repeat the process on her other leg. His touch is light but deliberate, the only sound in the room his steady breathing and the slide of his fingers over her silk pantyhose. Mariah watches and waits, her own breath heavy in her throat.

Rising up on his knees, Shades slides his fingers up Mariah’s thighs, her skirt hiking up over his wrists. He’s pressed up in between her legs now, face level with her chest, and there’s a kind of reverence in the way he reaches the waistband of her pantyhose, starts pulling it down her hips. Mariah lifts her ass so he can slide the tights down, and now Shades is kissing along the inside of her thigh, following after the soft fabric. His breath ghosts warm on her skin.

Shades slides her pantyhose all the way down and off, lips brushing over the inside of her knee. His hand cups her bare ankle again, and he gazes up at Mariah with pupils wide with adoration and desire.

It’s a good look for him, down on his knees in front of her, but Mariah wants to see those lips of his red and wrecked again. “Come on up here,” she says.

Rising immediately, Shades leans in and kisses her, one hand cupping the back of her neck. Mariah grabs the front of his shirt, yanks him closer so she can really get in there, lips working against his like molten wax, nipping at his lips, sliding her tongue into his mouth. When she grabs a sharp handful of what little ass he has, Shades grunts in surprise, kissing her with renewed fervor.

When Mariah gets his shirt unbuttoned and off of him, she discovers tattoos, several – a name and two dates in ornate text over his heart, framed by wings; a playing card (ace of spades) on his inner bicep; an twisting pattern of skulls, thorns, and frames curling around his side; more text on his other arm. They’re all faded, at least several years old.

It’s the name on his chest that’s the most interesting to her – LUIS ERNESTO ALVAREZ, 1953 – 1986. “A relative?” Mariah asks, tracing a fingernail over the outspread wings, brushing aside the silver chain of his necklace.

“My father,” says Shades quietly. He’s got one hand on her arm, thumb brushing over her bicep, and with his other hand traces circles over her knee. “Died young.”

“Shot?”

“Leukemia, actually.”

There’s a quiet ache in his voice, but he’s also watching Mariah for her reaction, waiting. She moves on to the spades card on his arm, trailing her fingers along the planes of his chest to the tight swell of his upper arm. “Lucky charm?”

“More like a reminder,” he says, with a grim smile.

He’s pale and skinny, there’s no denying that, but there’s wiry muscle underneath, and if Mariah’s honest she’s always had a bit of a thing for guys with narrow hips. “For you or for your enemies?”

Shades’ grin widens. “Both.”

And she’s always had a thing for men with death in their eyes, too. Hooking a finger in his belt loops, she pulls him back towards her, presses her lips to his again. As Shades kisses her, his hands snake around behind her, find the button on the back of her shirt, and unhook it.

This is the part she’s been dreading – Mariah knows what she looks like, knows that she’s got wrinkles and rolls and sags like the woman on the wrong side of fifty she is, wearing underwear nothing like what they sell at Victoria’s Secret. But when Shades lifts her shirt away, air rolling cool over her heated skin, he’s still gazing at Mariah with that same unabashed admiration. And his expression doesn’t change when he unhooks her bra, slides the straps off her shoulders. “You really are beautiful,” he says.

Mariah says, “Stop it,” but it’s a token protest, a little smile curling her lips.

“Do you really want me to?” Hands on her shoulders, thumbs brushing over her collarbones, Shades looks intently at her.

And for once Mariah doesn’t want to be tough, doesn’t want to build that armor any longer. “No,” she says, looking back up at him with wide eyes, and she knows there’s a stupid mooncalf look on her face but she doesn’t care. “Don’t stop.”

Gently, tenderly, like she’s made of glass, Shades cups her face in his hands and kisses Mariah again. She can’t help sighing into his mouth, goosebumps rising on her skin as he slides his hands down her neck, down her chest and over her cleavage, the lightest touch, the barest sensation…

And he doesn’t let up, just keeps gently caressing until she feels like she’s going to go mad with the barely-thereness of it, just this shy of being enough. “Come on,” breathes Mariah, by now braced against Shades with her forehead pressed to his neck, her hands on his ribs to feel the breath go in and out of him, his fingers still skimming frustratingly over her breasts. “Get on with it.”

Shades chuckles and she can _feel_ it, a low dark vibration. “I said I’d take care of you.”

“I didn’t think you’d take all night to do it.”

He tweaks her nipples, lightly, but Mariah nips at his neck in protest all the same. Shades chuckles again, and then starts rubbing in circles. With each pass of his thumbs he seems to reach deeper and deeper until Mariah is leaning boneless into Shades, eyes closed, breath running sharply in and out of her.

“What do you want?” he murmurs, hoarse in her ear. The motion of his hands is relentless, still toying with her breasts, until she swears she can feel it in her pussy. “Tell me.”

She wants to see Shades lose every last bit of that cool of his, wants to see him flushed and panting and dazed. She wants to feel like nothing else matters.

“Why don’t you show me what you’ve got?” she says, and grazes her teeth over his earlobe.

Shades shivers and _hisses,_ grabbing her tighter, hips twitching towards her. Oh, so that’s a thing. Mariah licks at his ear, bites down on his earlobe again and tugs. Arms tightening around her, Shades flat-out groans. When Mariah finishes, his ear is glowing red, and there’s an uneven flush on his cheeks too. Before he has a chance to regroup she descends on the other ear, and at the same time drags her hands down his stomach to start unbuckling his belt, because she’s good at multitasking like that.

She barely has time to get his pants off before Shades has seized her face again to kiss her ferocious and sloppy, lips catching against hers, breath hot. His weight pushes her back, onto the bed, and Mariah pulls him down with her until she’s lying on her back with him holding himself up on his elbows over her. When he rolls his hips up against hers, Mariah can feel his hard-on.

Her skirt is bunched uncomfortably around her hips by now, and Mariah reaches down to unzip it when Shades’ long fingers close around her wrist. “Let me,” he says.

Mariah lays back, Shades sliding her skirt down and off, buzzed head bent to kiss at her thigh again. The trail his lips leave is burning-warm, the scrape of his stubble acute on already-tender skin. He kisses up her leg, over her stomach, up between her breasts, and as Shades’ lips come down heavy and hot on hers the weight of his body presses into her too.

He kisses her until she’s lost to her own heart pounding and blood racing. Shades has wandering hands, stroking all up and down her, lingering over soft curves, until Mariah is dizzy with sensation. Shades’ bare skin pressed against hers, Mariah clutches at his shoulders, goes back for an ear. Shades groans, one hand cupping her throat, and presses a series of blistering kisses along her neck. “Tell me what you want,” he breathes again.

For a brief, stupid second, Spice Girl lyrics come to mind. “You got a condom?”

“Yeah.” Another kiss, and then Shades is gone, replaced by cool air, to fetch the condom from his pants pocket. Mariah takes the opportunity to strip off her girdle, resettle herself. When Shades climbs back up on the bed beside her, there’s a smile on lips and a hungry gleam in his eyes. He leans down to kiss her, one hand going between her legs, and Mariah shivers at his fingers ghosting over her labia.

“Tease,” she growls into Shades’ mouth, one hand on the back of his head, the other grasping his hip. He doesn’t even bother with a smile or retort this time, just slides his tongue into her mouth at the same time his fingers slip down to press against her clit.

Mariah tilts her hips up, into his touch, and it’s not enough, not enough, she kisses Shades until his lips are red and swollen and his breath shaky, and each stroke of his finger coils her tighter like winding a spring –

“Now,” she pants, hands on his face, his chest, his arms, “come on, now,” and somehow Shades understands because he grabs a pillow, slides it under her hips, kissing her at the same frantic pace. His cock rubs up against her, hot between her thighs, and Mariah arches her hips up. Despite the roughness of his kisses, Shades’ hand is gentle as he parts her legs, and when he enters her he’s already slick with lube.

It’s _satisfying,_ puzzle pieces slotting together; Mariah clutches at Shades for as much leverage as possible as she can. But then his hips roll into hers, cock hitting her sweet spot, and Mariah huffs and throws her head back. “I got this,” rasps Shades, and then he starts thrusting in earnest, and it’s all Mariah can do not to moan aloud. The pace he sets is fast and hard and he doesn’t let up until Mariah’s long given up staying silent. The tension inside her keeps tightening, tightening, tightening, until she can’t take it, it’s got to let go.

Shades is panting, his skin is hot and damp with sweat, and he seizes a fistful of bedspread and groans in her ear, “Motherfucking sexy, _Jesus_ , so goddamn fucking hot –”

And somehow it’s that that does it, her praises sung in his raw voice, and Mariah cries out and clutches Shades, she’s coming and it won’t stop, she can’t breathe, orgasm hits her like a ton of bricks and for a brief second she thinks she blacks out.

Gasping, she lays back limp, pushing sweaty hair out of her eyes. Shades is draped across her, breathing just as hard, his cheek resting on her shoulder. “Well,” says Mariah.

Shades pulls out, then leans back in for a soft kiss. His lips are the color of raspberry at this point, and they sting a little on Mariah’s oversensitive skin. “How was that?” he asks, low, dark eyes searching her face.

She’s not sure she has bones anymore. “Good,” Mariah manages, patting his arm. There’s little pink crescents dotted up and down his skin, left by her fingernails. “Real – real good.”

When he grins his eyes go narrow and squinty, cheeks pushing up, mouth widening. “Good,” says Shades, and kisses her again before sliding off the bed to throw away the condom.

Mariah finds she’s perfectly content to just lie still. Moving seems like an impossible task, with how her limbs have gone to jelly, but even if she could she wouldn’t want to. She likes where she is, right here. Feels like she’s laying on clouds.

Returning with a blanket, Shades lays down next to Mariah and then drapes it over them, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. All right, well, Mariah can move enough to cuddle in closer to him. He smells like sweat, and cum, and there’s a hollow by his shoulder that’s just right for her to rest her head in.

Shades starts stroking her hair, long, light, methodical touches. Lamplight glints off the ring on his finger, and before she can really think about it Mariah asks, “Where’d you get that?”

“This?” Shades asks in mild surprise, turning the ring over. Mariah nods. “I just bought it. Thought it looked nice.”

“Oh.” Mariah is vaguely disappointed, though she can’t tell why. “Thought it might mean something.”

With a grin, Shades says, “Nah,” kisses her on the forehead. “Not yet, anyway.”

That’s true. He can make meaning out of things. Mariah sighs, one arm draped limp over Shades’ bony waist, eyes drifting shut. Like he said.

They’ve got time.


End file.
